


No Reason to Ask for More

by fallbright



Category: Tracy Park - Mary Jane Holmes
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallbright/pseuds/fallbright





	No Reason to Ask for More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melodious B (melodiousb)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodiousb/gifts).



i.

The wedding was indeed “quiet and without any display”, for Dolly Tracy had said that it must be so to please her, and Ann Eliza did want to please her mother-in-law-to-be, even if Dolly clearly had little interest in pleasing her. Besides which, Ann Eliza didn’t feel the lack of a grand wedding party to be so beastly: after all, she was there, and Tom, and they were hardly being married in rags—neither Tom nor her father would ever stand for that! Jerrie and Harold hadn’t had better, and Ann Eliza saw no reason to ask for more.

In fact, Ann Eliza entertained deep inside her a faint suspicion that she might actually be _happier_ than Jerrie had been. The whole world had really always known Jerrie and Hal loved each other, though they’d been going through a bit of a rough patch recently. Poor Maude had gotten mixed in there somehow and confused things, but that was all straightened out now, thanks to Tom.

Ann Eliza tilted her head into her husband‘s shoulder and beamed up at him. He had been looking out the carriage at the scenery around them, but at the movement he turned to gaze down at her, and asked her quite sweetly, “What’s on your mind, _Petite_?” and the endearment sent a little thrill through her, just as it always did.

“I was just thinking how wonderful you are,” Ann Eliza told him, and Tom told her that was silly and muttered some nonsense about how _she_ was the wonderful one, but Ann Eliza knew the truth. Tom was elegant and grand and stylish, and easy to love. Ann Eliza remembered hearing about that governor’s daughter in Saratoga who had been throwing herself at his head, and entertaining in secret both hope and despair, for to turn down such a match must, she thought, require some sort of previous attachment, and how impossible that it be to her! For Ann Eliza knew perfectly well that despite her French boots and expensive dresses, she was only old Peterkin’s daughter—goodness, Mrs. Tracy had certainly made that clear enough—and she hadn’t merited more than four bouquets at her graduation, none of them from Tom. So she’d held her breath while the judge said “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” and somehow, miraculously, everything had gone through without Tom absconding in favor of some tall, straight girl with golden waves of hair, and little redheaded Ann Eliza Tracy knew herself to be the happiest girl in the world.

ii.

Doris was always proper and dignified, and Tom’s mother liked her quite a lot. Dolly had told him so, during the very stern lecture she’d given him on the honor of the Tracy name before his wedding. He would have a million, she said, but he must be very certain not to disgrace himself with  bad taste, which he must be ever vigilant against, for she was certain his wife’s upbringing could not have taught her better. Doris ought to be a great help to him in this endeavor, for she had served with Lady Augusta Hardy for a year and would know the proper way about everything.

So Tom knew perfectly well that Doris was only doing her job when she sniffed at the table settings Ann Eliza picked, or asked, in that perfectly modulated voice of hers, whether Ann Eliza was quite _certain_ she wanted to wear that dress? and he did not say anything, for that was women’s business. But _this_ —why, this was quite another business entirely.

“My lady is certainly gracious,” Doris was saying, lashes lowered demurely, “but ever so trying sometimes. Why, I do believe she truly does not understand the proper difference between a dinner and a garden party! And to be so lavish in the marketplace! Lady Augusta Hardy was always so discerning, though she could afford quite as much as my lady can. No one ever would have dreamed of calling her crass, for she had such an air of nobility and dignity around her that everyone thought it quite right that she should marry a peer. Whereas my lady, well… those of us with taste…”

She was throwing herself at his head! That look was truly unmistakable in its intent, between the slight pout of the lips and the wide eyes peeking up at him. Tom had seen it too many times to count, being popular with ladies everywhere, and objectively he knew that Doris did it quite as well as any Parisian belle, and quite a bit better than Ann Eliza, who always managed to look a little frightened when she tried to be seductive. Struck by an intense feeling of revulsion, he took a step back.

“It does strike me that Mrs. Tracy’s sense of style has made great leaps and bounds during our time in Europe,” he began. The tricky bit was to extricate himself from this situation without having to fire Doris, who as a maid had few faults. “I believe it does her good to be here in Europe, where she can see how the great ladies handle themselves.” Doris, he knew, could read the unspoken _under your tutelage_ here.

“Oh indeed,” she replied. “But she still has such a _penchant_ for overdressing that I—”

Clearly, Tom was not making his point. “And if she likes to dress a little finer than the rest of the crowd,” he continued, as if Doris had not spoken, “I’d much rather have my wife overdressed than underdressed, and we can well afford it, and I must admit I find her quite endearing in all her finery, being so small and sensible and all, just like a little _infanta.”_ (Well, besides that hair, he added mentally to himself, and really Doris was exaggerating; Ann Eliza was becoming quite the snappy dresser with her father removed from the equation. Tom liked to think he had a little part in that, too.) “Now if you’ll excuse me, we seem to have an engagement at four, and my lady and I must prepare ourselves.”

There, that seemed to do it. Doris looked properly chastened now, and Tom had managed it all without saying an improper word or, he thought, offending her too much. He wished he had Fred or Dick around to give him a hearty pat on the back.

iii.

“Ann Eliza! What have you done with your hair?”

Ann Eliza hadn’t heard Tom return, and she nearly jumped out of her chair at his exclamation. Nervously, she reached up to touch the dark tresses that still felt foreign on her head, then turned around to face him. He looked positively shocked, which, she supposed, was a good thing; when she did something _gauche_ he always looked a little tired, if, she flattered herself, fond. She hadn’t noticed during the first few months of their marriage, when she’d thought he could do no wrong, but Tom really could be a bit of a snob. Ann Eliza supposed it was due to his mother, and that she might have turned out quite high-and-mighty herself had Dolly Tracy had the raising of her, but that he really wasn’t nearly as bad as he could be. He had married Ann Eliza, had he not? Dolly still made excuses when Ann Eliza proposed to see her.

“I’ve had it cut,” she said, as matter-of-factly as she could manage. “This is a wig. I think it looks quite nice, myself.”

“It’s the latest fashion,” Doris sniffed, rather defensively, and Ann Eliza rather wondered when she had managed that. If nothing else good came of this, at least she would glean something from this experience.

“Your wigmaker must be an impressive chap,” said Tom, coming up to tuck a stray strand behind her ear, then running his fingers across the side of her head, which he had never done before and which Ann Eliza thought felt rather nice. “I could almost believe it to be your own, were it not for the color.”

“Well, yes,” she said, “I just thought that such a bright red was all well and good for a student, and I could get away with looking original then, but something darker is so much more suited to a married woman. And these wigs _are_ the fashion nowadays, so if I ought to have one I thought I might as well see if I could do a little extra improvement. Does it look terribly unnatural?”

He was studying her with the oddest look in his eyes. Ann Eliza found herself reminded of a morning in bed during the first months of their marriage, when she had asked him why he loved her. “You’re putting me on the spot here,” he’d said, and she’d told him he’d have to try anyways, and he’d propped himself on one arm and looked her in the eye for what felt like a very long time, bringing heat to her face. Finally he’d said something about her feet, which had been very anticlimactic—Ann Eliza knew perfectly well she had nice feet, and it seemed as if her husband should be a little more creative—but she had always paid especially special attention to her feet from that day onwards. She looked down at them now, and yes, they looked perfectly delicate in her French heels. She figured Tom didn’t always notice, but still.

“Don’t be silly, _Petite_ ,” he said, lifting her chin up. “You look marvelous, like a little _madame_. Quite stylish, I should say.” And with that he bent down and kissed her, right there on the spot, causing her to flush nearly as bright as her now-shorn hair.

iv.

Tom and Ann Eliza had split up for the afternoon, she to go to the market and he to call on one of his friends. He was first back home, and so he fumbled about a bit for something to do before deciding he would write someone, possibly Fred. Yes, that was it; he would check up on Fred and see if he’d gotten around to marrying Nina yet, and if not to remind them that they couldn’t have the wedding at home, as Peterkin was reported to be as unfortunately hale and hearty as ever. So he got his pen and paper and sat at his writing desk, and he was just about to start when he heard the unmistakable commotion of Ann Eliza returning home, porters in tow with the day’s acquisitions.

“I ran into someone surprising at the market today,” she said, when she finally made her way into the sitting room. “I shan’t tell you who it is, though; you shall have to wait and be surprised as I was.” She was smiling from ear to ear, and Tom found there was no chance of focusing properly on his letter, so he discarded it.

“Now that isn’t fair,” he said. “I shall be stuck questioning you now until I discover who it is you’re so determined to hide from me. Is it Lady Davenport?”

It was not Lady Davenport, she said, nor was it any of the other people he suggested, all of them among the Americans who flitted in and out of Paris on a more-or-less regular basis. Tom had given up on guessing and turned back to his letter, though not without making sure to include a few silly jabs at Ann Eliza.

Sometime around four the doorbell rang and Doris hustled to answer it, much to Tom’s discomfit. Clearly she already knew who this mystery person was, and she was in on this plot to exclude him. Doris! Since when had she and Ann Eliza started getting on in the first place?

“Your guests are here, my lady,” she said, and just out of pique Tom made sure not to look up from his letter. So it was, then, that he found himself wholly surprised by a certain bright, teasing voice that he hadn’t heard for quite some time.

“Why, Tom Tracy! All this time since we’ve seen each other, and we don’t even merit a look? I’ll have you know Hal and I are very hurt,” said Jerrie Hastings, and Tom ratcheted to attention.

She was still very beautiful. Tom considered himself a connoisseur of beauty, and to say otherwise would be doing himself an injustice. She was tall and elegant as ever, and her hair still descended down her back in golden waves. Tom had once dreamed of running his fingers through those magnificent tresses every morning, but, he realized abruptly, he hadn’t—not for a very long while. Definitely not since they’d been in Europe a year, and he couldn’t recall when he’d stopped before that. And now that he looked at her, it was all very well and statuesque being as tall as Jerrie was, but for himself he’d rather someone a little shorter, someone he could carry in his arms if he wanted to, or whose waist he could span with his hands. And all that joking she did seemed rather silly now, next to his Ann Eliza, who could be perfectly winning without ever leading a man on. And he supposed Hal must get awful tired looking at all that hair all the time; he’d always wanted more than was good for him. Red-brown was much more relaxing, and very pleasantly rich to boot.

That last was an excuse, and perhaps everything he thought previous was an excuse as well, but, Tom figured, they were _true_ excuses. And so he smiled and stood and gave Hal and Jerrie a perfectly friendly greeting, all pleasant surprise and reminiscences of the good old days. They would have to stay for dinner, he said, and Ann Eliza interjected that of course they would; she had already begun the preparations, and Tom smiled fondly and felt quite a bit of pride in his sensible little wife. For the first time in a while—perhaps since Fred Raymond had called Hal a “right clever chap”, or even back before he could remember, when Tom wanted to kiss Jerrie and she wouldn’t let him—Tom shook hands with Harold Hastings and felt no envy at all.


End file.
